


Inside and Beyond

by Redace



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Post-Canon, Spoilers, as in it COULD fit in with canon i guess but it most probably wouldnt happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7102132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redace/pseuds/Redace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Oh, god'. Lincoln felt his eyelids flutter a little in disbelief and horror, and despite the light of a thousand stars surrounding them, the world just grew a whole lot darker. </p>
<p>'So that really did happen. I died. I died and I’m trapped here.'</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Post-Season 3, Ep 22. Lincoln is abruptly made aware that there is more to death than simply ceasing to exist - At least, his own death is. Maybe he was also destined for something bigger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside and Beyond

**Author's Note:**

> In case it wasn't obvious already, this entire thing is a spoiler for the season 3 finale of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. I'd suggest not reading on unless you're caught up or couldn't care less about finding out what happens (Which I totally advise against because the finale was incredible!)
> 
> There are a few things I really want to try out with this fic - things I wished the show had considered to address and things wanted by the fandom that were overlooked - so depending on how it goes, I may try to tie in a few different theories and plots that I felt would have been wonderful to see in the show itself. Of course, I still absolutely adore the series and every plot it has decided to use thus far, and I'm already looking forward to season 4!

As soon as he'd decided on his course of action, Lincoln knew he'd never regret the decision, wherever he was sent afterwards.

He was never a religious man - the small golden cross that hung suspended above his hand in the jet was more a symbol of fate and hope than anything else, proof that his sacrifice was no mistake. He found himself humbled as he lay there, gazing in awe at the world he'd lived on for the entirety of his rather short life, unexpectedly accompanied by her greatest enemy in a mutual understanding of their conjoined fates.

He told himself over and over that same message, _this is my fate_ , as he felt the rattle and strain of the jet against the pressure of the earth's orbit, the small rhythmic ' _beep_ ' of the explosive background noise to keep his mind from straying too far from the present; his simple, repetitive anthem for the two of them to perish to.

“The fallen agent.” he breathes out, the slightest of smiles gracing his lips as he dwelled on the prophecy that Daisy had feared for so long. “Who would’ve thought.”

Hive, now restful beside him, held his silence, but Lincoln paid him no heed. Now his final moments would be of the view before his eyes, the life he had chosen to carve out on it, and the people he had saved no matter their mistakes. The threat had been eliminated and a purpose finally fulfilled.

The numbers displayed on the digital screen of the bomb notified him mere seconds were all that separated the Inhumans from death now. Their time had come, and Lincoln held his breath as the beeping finally came to a long awaited halt. No sooner than it did, a brilliant glow illuminated the jet and bathed him in such a glorious light, that the sobering image of a billion stars among the empty abyss of space was left as nothing more than a blurred memory. Eyes squeezed shut, Lincoln readied himself for the impending pain of the blast, clenching his fists tight.

Only, he was instead met with a numbing sensation that spread wildly across his limbs, allowing him to fall into a state he could only describe as a welcomed slumber, happy in the knowledge that he could now embrace the peace he had never been able to find in life.

He supposed that this was what people believed would happen when they spoke of a calm before death; a tranquil moment to admire the events of your life passing before your very eyes within a matter of seconds before your personal time line had run its course.

  
But no end came.

 

  
Rather than the anticipated emptiness, Lincoln was met with the shocking revelation that his sense of touch had returned. A smooth, solid surface pressed firmly against his palms, cool and pleasant against his fingertips, bringing him back to the present and the knowledge that he existed. He was really here, _alive_ , wherever 'here' was.

Hesitant with the fear of false hope, he dared to open his eyes, suspicions confirmed in a matter of seconds as a piercing light greeted him. He winced, raising an arm to shield himself from the glare, but found himself smiling nonetheless. It was such a comforting light, not unlike the explosion, but still notably different. There was nothing else except the light, and as moments passed he wondered if he was wrong to doubt human beliefs in an afterlife.

His eyes and mind alike began to adjust to the unexpected medium. Finally able to open them fully against the glare of his unknown whereabouts, Lincoln pressed his hands firmly against the smooth surface of what he could only assume was the ‘ground’, heaving himself up so he sat upright in the emptiness of this new world. Thoughts immediately went to his torso and the bloody mess of the wound he’d received after the explosion back on Earth, fearful that all too soon the movement would result in a throbbing abdominal pain - which it undoubtedly would, if the injury was still there.

As if he could expect to be any more awed, the lack of blood staining his clothes and the absence of the wound’s discomfort sent his mind reeling once more. This had to be the afterlife - the _real_ afterlife, and Lincoln wasn’t entirely sure whether he should be relieved or saddened this really was the aftermath of his life.

“God...” He murmured to himself, taking in the view of, well, nothing, once again. It seemed as if he really was alone here, at least in this specific area. Perhaps there were towns and cities of people that he would eventually stumble upon here, too. Perhaps Lincoln should have been more concerned, even a little afraid at the prospect of being truly alone for eternity, or for however long this feeling would last, but there was _something_ that just wouldn’t let him panic. He was calm, aside from being taken aback by the pure absurdity of this realm, and he was ready to face a future in this afterlife, because he was pretty damn sure this is what it felt like to be truly peaceful.

He would ponder a little longer in his own thoughts if he could, but his ears suddenly proved that they still functioned, with the first sound since he’d arrived here approaching him ever so softly. Footsteps, he imagined (or rather hoped), which signalled that he was correct in thinking that other people roamed this vast expanse alongside him, and he let out a combined sigh of relief and a smile at the thought of meeting those who had passed before him. Maybe reuniting with fallen comrades and friends like Jiaying and Andrew and Gordon--

 

\-- “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

 

It was neither of the three. A man for sure, but a voice he had not expected to hear in such a place. Lincoln dared to turn and meet the figure’s gaze, taking in the sight of a familiar face, but not a welcomed one. He finally recalled the bitter taste of resentment and hatred in his mouth, and no longer hesitant, pulled himself up to his feet to approach him at full height.

Standing there in a stern silence, Lincoln began to take into account small details of Hive that seemed rather foreign to him. The trench coat he’d worn as he’d died had vanished for one, replaced by a khaki uniform that would have been worn by an American soldier. He seemed thinner overall, too, not an incredible difference, but appearing more angled and sharp, with a gaze that struck him to be warmer than he’d remembered. He looked so much more tranquil, so much more _alive_ , and it was in that moment that Lincoln realised he was not gazing at the inhuman at all; this was Grant Ward.

“Well,” Lincoln mumbled bitterly, letting his glare drop to his feet. “This clearly isn’t heaven.”

“No,” Ward agreed, and Lincoln could see him also turn away from the corner of his eye. “But it’s peaceful all the same.”

And it _was_ , and Lincoln had finally found enough anger in him to feel frustrated by such a perfect setting. Because why was Ward, a murderous, heartless traitor who had abandoned his own team, allowed to witness it with him?

“Not any more.” He stated coldly, gritting his teeth and finally maintaining the piercing stare he aimed at this new company. “Why are _you_ here?”

He was answered with a smile; a tired, half attempt at a grin, and it angered him that this was also different from that of Hive’s smug and satisfied smile. Ward would be even easier to hate if he held even more similarities to his parasitic puppeteer, but everything about him, from the exhausted glint in his eyes to the motionless hang of his arms at his sides, blared out loudly as the expressions, guilt and irreversible mistakes of a _human_.

“Well, it's not as if this is supposed to be a pleasant place.” He replied. “At least, I don’t think it is. I don’t take much pleasure in knowing that this is the only part left of me now.”

A moment of silence followed as he digested the meaning of those words, before Lincoln could even consider spluttering out a response. “W--Wait. What do you mean?” He questioned after some consideration, frowning with the realisation that perhaps there was more to this place than just an empty, illuminated space. “So what you’re saying is you know where we are? What this is?”

Ward nodded, shifting a little uncomfortably whilst clasping his hands together. “...It speaks. Sometimes. Usually when it’s using your mind.” Lincoln felt his stomach twist in fear, and swallowed as he allowed the other to continue. “That’s how I figured it out. But now that you’re here, it’s pretty clear my... My body’s gone. Somehow, I suppose, it’s using your body as a new host. Hard to imagine how, really, because I saw what happened to you out there. Y’know, in the jet.”

_Oh, god_. Lincoln felt his eyelids flutter a little in disbelief and horror, and despite the light of a thousand stars surrounding them, the world just grew a whole lot darker. _So that really did happen. I died. I died and I’m trapped here._

He registered the sound of a distant ‘ _I’m sorry_ ,’ but could barely comprehend it after the realisation of his newly established existence. His body was not his own. He was a defenceless insect; a single part that helped shape the swarm of trapped minds, and the newest addition to the Hive’s personal memory box.


End file.
